


Xibalba

by orphan_account



Category: Deadmau5 (Musician), EDM, Skrillex (Musician)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Mpreg, Possible Character Death, depressing content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't remember much, but he does remember her voice...how he wish he could hear her now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xibalba

            He doesn’t remember much, but he does remember her _voice_. It was beautiful, each note like the pluck of a warm mandolin or the pitter-patter of rain in a forest. Even now, he thinks back on her voice, thinks back on that wonderful, radiant sound, and he smiles.

            She told him to be brave. That this new world would accept him and that he would do great things. That he would find love and he would find happiness, and he would find everything that their world lacked. As it was, the war had decimated most of them—Stars, mother called them. They were part of the solar system, traveling the far reaches of space for all the rest of time—that’s what happened when one of their kind passed into the great beyond; they became a star...

            He remembers how envious she was of them.

            But she still smiled. And she kissed his forehead and they touched antennae (a form of great affection to his people), and then…

             She was gone.

            And there he was, little Sonny Moore, holding the last thing Mother had given him—a hand knit doll. He still had it now; it took up space in his wardrobe, wrapped delicately in a scarf with moons and suns printed on it. When he held it close, he could _just_ smell his Mother, smell that beautiful scent that she always had.

            Of course, the moment he moved in with Joel, he learned quickly that Professor Meowingtons could smell it too.

            And thus, began the war of Meowingtons v Sonny: indeed, his opponent was fierce, had Joel on his side, and could purr, meow, and cute his way into _anything_ , but so could Sonny. Besides, one bat of his eyelashes and Joel would wriggle the old doll away from the cat (though, with all the bitching that came with it, Sonny decided to leave that as a last resort).

            It was always lighthearted fun, though. The cat seemed to know that the doll was special—whenever he got his paws on it, the most he did was snuggle with it, purring and rubbing his cheeks all over it. More then once, the duo would return to see the cat fast asleep, his tiny arms wrapped around the raggedy doll.

            Joel would eye him with faux suspicion _“You sure you’re not peddling anything?_ ”

            Sonny would be too busy giggling to respond.

            Today was not one of these days, however.

            It was a dreary one, cold and soggy. Sonny sat at the windowsill, the cat lazing around in his lap. He ran one hand across the cat’s silky fur, the other one over his own stomach.

            Jesus Christ had he fucked up this time.

~*~

            He’d known it could happen. Known it was a totally possible, totally probable; that it was _bound_ to happen if he wasn’t careful.

            So he was.

            He kept a box of condoms on hand, near their bed, in their car; even when Joel muttered that he was obviously clean and that he needed Sonny _now_ , he would always insist.

            “It feels gross if you don’t” he’d state, sticking his tongue out in added disgust, “Just gives me less to clean ‘n shit.”

            So the elder would agree. He’d always agree with Sonny—they’d been close from the beginning, closer when they had started fucking, and when fucking went beyond that, they became closer still. And now, as an established (albeit, very reserved) couple, they were nigh inseparable. Oh, they had their own friends, own groups, but where one was, you’d be damned if you couldn’t find the other.

            It wasn’t perfect—no relationship was. They had their tiffs, the days when they couldn’t stand to be near one another. But the nights would always end with a “love you,” even if they didn’t particularly _like_ each other at said moment.

            In short, they made a damn cute couple.

            So he shouldn’t have worried right? This should be a good thing! A celebration of life, of _love_ …

            Bullshit, this was all bullshit. It was shit, and Sonny _knew_ it was shit and damned if he knew what to do about it. Christ, he felt like some teenage girl on those idiotic “Oh, it can’t happen to me, it happens to other—oh wait, it happened to me!” daytime television shows—but in his defense, it really was only one time.

            Well, more like three parts that made up one time.

            They couldn’t help it—it was their anniversary, they were tipsy, they were giddy as fuck. Joel had turned on a song he was working on and Sonny was leaning on the speakers and _fuck_ the deep rumbling against his back had felt so _good_.

            So they did it on the floor. And then on the couch. And finally, sweaty and exhausted, they rutted slowly on the bed, tangled up the wet sheets.

            They fell asleep that way. And woke up, sticky, sore, fucking _fantastic_.

            Sure, Sonny had worried about the night before hand. But it was only for a second—Joel was mouthing at his neck, telling him how beautiful he was when he looked good and fucked.

            So four. Four times that they fucked until they screamed, four times when they could feel their hearts beating as one…

           

            And none of them was protected.

            That’s where the problem came up: he was totally and utterly alone. Joel didn’t know—Joel _couldn’t_  know…

            Maybe Sonny was scared that he would leave—just up and walk out the door, and Sonny would be alone with children…that is, if they survived birth…

            No, no that wasn’t it. It was the opposite that scared him so bad—That Joel would _stay_. Sure, Joel could be surly and asinine, but he was loyal…he was a good friend, a good man all the way, and he would stay with Sonny through the entire thing. And he would give up everything for the boy, even if he didn’t know what the hell was going on. His reputation would be ruined, his career over…all for Sonny….

            No, no, that couldn’t happen…he wouldn’t let Joel do that.

            But he was afraid. He was scared out of his wits and he was so painfully alone…His Mother had to do that. Gave birth when his father disappeared. His siblings hadn’t made it, their eggs cold and barren, but he _had_ …he survived the incubation, had survived long enough to grow his antennae…survived the trip his Mother had made to bring him to this planet…

            How he missed her. How he wished he could talk to her, ask her what the hell to do, because he was alone. And he was _scared_.

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the EDMKink board--I hope you like it OP :3  
> Author Notes: I don't usually do mpreg--but I thought I'd fill this one. I will warn you now, I'm trying to do a "realistic" (as realistic you can be with the prompt) version of mpreg. And, given my usual style of writing, I'm sure most of you know that I am no romantic. But, just because I like you OP, I'm going to give it my all and make it...well, a romance with plot. I hope you enjoy :)


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